


Random Bits and Tumblr Fics

by astudyinfic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Stand alone fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 6,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinfic/pseuds/astudyinfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I randomly get ideas for mini fics that I post on my tumblr, sometimes based off a prompt or picture.  It will be a mixture of lots of different things and will be updated sporadically.  </p><p>(So far only one of the chapters is smutty, but since it exists, I have to rate it M.  Please do not be too disappointed by the lack of porn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He could see her from across the street. His military training made him look for snipers everywhere he went, but this was the first time since returning to London that he had actually seen one. She was beautiful and young, too young for this kind of work he would have thought previously, but after seeing children used in the war, he knew differently.

Judging by the angle of the gun, Sherlock was the intended target. Of course he was. Half of the criminals in London wanted him dead for some reason or another. Glancing up at her, he met her eyes, shaking his head slightly, trying to warn her that nothing good would come of this. Everyone knew that if you hurt Sherlock Holmes you had to deal with John Watson. While he make look small, he could and would take out nearly anyone.

She shrugged, smirking slightly before pulling the trigger. John heard the shot clear as anything he had heard in Afghanistan before feeling Sherlock crumple beside him

He woke gasping, legs tangled in sheets, covered in sweat. “John,” came that lovely, sleepy baritone, and arm reaching out to tug him close. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” John snuggled closer, struggling to control his heart rate. “You are safe. I am safe. Go back to sleep.” And with those words reverberating in his ears, he did just that.


	2. The Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ring for Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my most popular tumblr post ever. Hope you like it.
> 
> (Here is a picture of the ring: http://tinyurl.com/b8ym8yq)

“I know you once said that the solar system wasn’t important. It may have taken me a few years, but I finally found a way to show you that it is. 

“Mercury is ever changing, just like our lives. Fast and erratic, it represents the career we have chosen.

“Venus is named for the goddess of love. I would hope that by now the symbolism of that is not lost on you.

“Earth is our home planet. Home is what I found with you, all those years ago, and you are where I will continue to find it for the rest of our lives.

“The red planet, Mars, stands out due to it’s brilliant color. You, too, are brilliant and beautiful, and often times, due to your tenuous grasp on social niceties, I wonder if you might actually be a Martian.

“Jupiter is the largest planet in the solar system. Whether this represents your larger than life personality, or amazing mind, I’m not sure. All I know is that I love both.

“Probably one of the best known planets is Saturn, with it’s amazing rings. It is unusual, and that is why people love it. I love the fact that the most amazing, yet unusual man in the world chose me to spend his life with.

“Uranus is the color of your eyes, clear and cold, penetrating everything in your gaze. I never stood a chance from the second you glanced in my direction.

“And finally, Neptune, the brilliant blue planet, known for being icy and barren, but like you, once you get beyond first impressions there is so much more there than just the algid exterior.

“I give you this ring, as a visible sign of everything I love about you and a symbol of why some things are best to be remembered. I hope our love lasts as long as the planets orbit the sun.

“I, John Watson, take you Sherlock Holmes to be my lawfully wedded husband, and with this ring, I thee wed.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Associated picture: http://tinyurl.com/c46tcth

Early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the room in its pinkish glow. The occupants of the large bed lay tangled together under the cover, oblivious to the impending daylight. After awhile the taller man stirs, drawing his smaller companion closer. John presses his face into his lover’s chest, nestling in, unwilling to break the peaceful calm that surrounds them. Sherlock presses kisses to his hair, his temple, his lips. Hands begin to stroke, to caress. Soon the only sounds punctuating the morning’s silence, the slick-slap of skin on skin and breathless moans of utter bliss. Until finally, sated in each other’s arms, eyes open and they greet each other, and the new day. “Good morning, love.”


	4. Do you love me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random fluff I wrote after an angsty night.

“Do you love me?” John asked, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. 

The recently completed case had been a challenging one. What was originally believed to be a murder turned out to be a suicide. The victim had been in a relationship, unaware that the other party did not reciprocate his much stronger feelings. John, in a moment of vulnerability, managed to convince himself that this was the case with Sherlock. Twenty-four hours later, he had to confront his lover, just to find out the truth.

“Love is just a social construct, John. I find you useful and it would be unpleasant if you went away, but to say that I love you would be disingenuous.” Sherlock hadn’t even looked up from his microscope as he spoke the words, stretching his arm to get the notes in John’s now shaking hand. 

The ice racing through John’s blood lodged solidly in his heart, as he felt his world crumble beneath his feet. “Right,” he mumbled, trying to keep his composure, “right.” His body came to attention and he walked purposefully past his flatmate, who sat unaware of the turmoil that was going on inside of him. He made it down the stairs and out of the flat; the limp only noticeable to himself and Sherlock, or would have been if the other man paid attention to anything besides cases and experiments.

“John?” Sherlock called tentatively as the door to 221 latched behind the doctor. Suddenly the flat felt colder and less like home than it ever had before. Things had been good between them, his life had felt perfectly settled. Sherlock had never realized that needing another person could feel right. 

Sitting back, he thought over the last few days, the case, and the words he had just spoken to the doctor. The realization hit him like cold water to the face and he was down the stairs not more than 10 seconds later. Ready to track John all over London if needed, he was surprised to find the man sitting on the front step.

“Couldn’t really think of anywhere else to go. Rather pathetic if you think about it,” John muttered, not looking up to meet Sherlock’s gaze.

“John,” Sherlock started, clearing his throat. “Until you, John, people were a means to an end. Now, you are the end, and the mean, and the square root of -1. You are everything and nothing and you are every step in between. What I meant earlier is that you mean more to me than those three words can convey. You are more than a greeting card sentiment. More than a social construct.” He paused, looking for the right words, “You are the sun that my planet orbits around.”

“You deleted the solar system, remember?” John asked, looking up curiously at his flatmate.

“I don’t delete anything that has to do with you. I remember everything you have said, every look you have given me. But I never want to remember the tone in your voice this morning, and I will do everything I can to make sure I never have to hear it again.”

Tears formed in John’s eyes. “You remember everything about me? You delete the solar system, but you remember what I had for breakfast 6 months ago last Tuesday?”

“Wheat toast, butter, marmalade. English breakfast tea, black. Yes, John. Tell me everything is okay. Tell me you are coming back inside. 221B without you there, not knowing if you will be there again, it isn’t home. I think, John, that you are home.”

John stood, rising on his toes to kiss the worried look off Sherlock’s face. “I’m coming back inside. And I don’t think you have to worry about me ever leaving like that again.”


	5. The Cleaning Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has two problems, and strangely both relate to Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first ever attempt at smut.
> 
> Picture that prompted this story: http://tinyurl.com/abdsrf5

Captain John Watson had two problems. The remarkable thing was that these problems were both related and unrelated at the same time. The first problem involved the utter disaster that was the flat. 221B Baker Street was currently buried under a pile of papers from the last case, and no amount of begging, nagging, or cajoling has managed to get his insufferable flatmate to clean. The second problem was the fact that he hadn’t gotten a leg over since before the case, and if he didn’t get off soon, he was going to explode. Obviously, the common denominator was of course, Sherlock Holmes.

Begrudgingly he climbed the steps to the flat, hoping that perhaps a few papers could be shifted so that he could at least sit in his armchair. However, he could not get past the door, the sight of the living room shocking him to stillness. Bent over, his sweetheart picked up the last pile of papers in an otherwise spotless sitting room. The fact that he was cleaning shocked him, however the attire made him almost paralyzed. 

His leggy love was clothed in sky high black heels, stockings, and the shortest French maid dress John had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. Bending over, his milky arse displayed for all to see, John forced his legs into movement. Coming up behind Sherlock, grasping those bony hips, he pressed his clothed erection into the lush behind.

“Hello, lover,” he murmured, bending over to whisper in Sherlock’s ear. “I see you have been very busy. And the place looks fantastic. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Answering without words, Sherlock pushed back, grinding against his lover’s hips.

“Oh yes,” John growled, unzipping his pants to free his hard cock. The lube they kept under the coffee table was put into use, as he quickly prepared Sherlock, stretching him with fingers and tongue. Finally, FINALLY, he pushed in. 

“Fuck,” they both gasped, as Sherlock met John thrust for thrust. After over a week of abstinence, this was never going to last long and within minutes, John’s hand had found Sherlock’s cock, bringing him to completion as he emptied himself in his lover’s body.

Later, as they curled around each other on the floor, wrapped in afterglow, John asked, “Where did you get this outfit?”

“Oh, just something I had. I’ve been waiting for the right occasion,” Sherlock explained smirking at the darkened eyes of his companion.

“I think this flat will need weekly cleanings, don’t you?”


	6. The Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a fortune I got with Chinese takeaway: http://tinyurl.com/b4zkeaw

After John shoots someone, it is customary to go out for Chinese food. Luckily there is a good one, judging by the state of the door handle, just a block for Baker Street. And so tonight, after a mob boss was carted away to the local hospital for a gunshot wound to the shoulder (“No Lestrade, we have no idea how that happened”) they found themselves alone in the restaurant at 1AM. 

Following the consumption of food (“Sherlock, eat your vegetable.” “No, they’re hateful.”) it was time to play one of Sherlock’s favorite games, “Deduce the fortune cookies.”

Picking up the first one, Sherlock looked at it carefully before declaring that they would be going on a vacation soon.

_Travel is in your near future._

Yes, yes, fine, he got that one. But doesn’t any amount of fortune cookies always contain a vacation one? He stuffed the whole cookie in his mouth, looking quite pleased with himself.

The second one he barely glanced at before handing it off to John, “I am not the one in need of a career upgrade. I think this one is meant for you,” he said with a scoff, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

_You will make a name for yourself in the field of fashion_

John laughed, a faint tint of red colouring his cheeks. “Are you kidding me, Sherlock? Who in their right mind is going to look to a man with a penchant for wooly jumpers, who is currently pushing 40 for fashion advice?”

“I wasn’t thinking about the jumpers. Pictures of you in those red pants from last night may or may not be on the website by the time you get home though. That should make a splash in the fashion world.” And with that, he was out the door.

John had the bill paid and was on his heels fast than you could say, “dim sum.”


	7. A Reichenbach Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what the title says

The phone had not rung in almost 2 years. There were no incoming texts. One of the major drawbacks to being dead is that there is no one knows to contact you. He never used the phone anyway. It was too easy to trace, yet, he held on to it.

Sentiment. He used to mock the sentimental, up until the point of his death. Now he missed Mrs. Hudson fretting over the state of the flat. While he had been busy all these months, he still missed working the cases with Lestrade. He even missed quibbling with Mycroft, even though big brother did know of his survival.

And then there was John. Steady, trustworthy, loyal, warm John. The man who made 221B home. The man who believed in him when all others had turned away. Believed in him when Sherlock himself had told him not to. He was the reason Sherlock held on to his phone. Three times over the two years, John had sent a text to it. Sherlock was unsure at first where it was out of habit or grief. But then, three weeks prior, he had received the following message:

_I wish I could tell you that I love you. –JW_

Sherlock had just finished taking out Moriaty’s web, and was contemplating a return to London. That text hastened his return, and now he found himself once again on Baker Street, staring at the door he knew so well. In the windows above, he could see John moving around the flat, slowly, limping. Sherlock had done that to him. And now it was time to see if he could repair the damage. 

Glancing down at the message once more, he closed his eyes and hit send, before walking across the street to greet whatever may be.

In the flat above, a message appeared on John’s phone.

_I love you too. Open the door. -SH_


	8. Spoonful of Sugar

“Open your mouth, Sherlock.”

Head shake.

“Open it or I will open it for you.”

Mutinous, just-try-me glare.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I watch him square his shoulders, planting his feet firmly on the ground, preparing for a fight. He may have almost a foot on me, but we both know I could take him down if I wanted to. If I wanted to play fair. But I am not above dirty tactics when I find them necessary. And I am about to pull out the dirtiest tactic that I know. So to speak.

Mouth shut resolutely, something I am normally in favor of, his eyebrows jump to his hairline when, instead of lunging at him like he expected, I reach for the hem of my jumper, pulling it up and over my head, tossing it to the side.

Next, I reach for my belt, sliding it slowly from my trousers, which I open a moment later. Shimmying out of them, I stand before Sherlock in nothing but the red pants he likes so much, watching as his eyes widen. Taking in the tented appearance of my pants, he leans forward slightly. I run one finger up my clothed erection, dropping my head back and moaning as I do so.

Slowly, I remove my cock from the pants, pushing them down until I can step out of them. Walking over, I sit on the coffee table, directly in front of him. One hand goes behind me to support my weight, while the other grips my dick, sliding up and down, slowly.   
“Feels…so…good…” I gasp, watching your eyes follow the movement of my hand. “If I close my eyes, I can pretend it is your hand on me, working me, sliding over my hard length.”

He leans forward, I can feel his eyes on me, his breath close enough to ghost over my skin, “It could be my hand, John, if you want.” 

As soon as I hear the words, I lunge forward, spraying the medicine into his mouth with the hand that had been supporting me.

“Thirty five years old, Sherlock, and I still have to use liquid antibiotics to get them into you. Next time you decide to hop a rusty fence, make sure you are up to date on your tetanus shot first.”

He sat back, glaring at my smug look, nose wrinkled at the taste of the medicine still coating his mouth. 

Handing over a glass of water, I resume my stroking, before saying with a smirk, “Now that your mouth is open, why don’t you stop pouting and put it to good use.”


	9. A Moment of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John reconnect after almost a year apart, just in time for Christmas.
> 
> A gift for walkamongstthestars

Panting, John smiled as he carded his fingers through Sherlock’s sweat soaked hair.  Sherlock was curled onto John’s chest, ear pressed to his heart, listening to the reaffirming beat that he had missed so much over the past months.  But for now, for this brief time here in Glasgow, they had a moment to themselves.  Mycroft assured them absolute privacy and he had delivered.  The house was fully stocked with food and other necessities.  There was no need for them to leave the house, which was preferred since they were barely leaving the bedroom.

“How much longer, love?” John asked, his voice still rough from their earlier exertions.  “I’m tired of coming home to an empty flat.”

He felt Sherlock’s sigh more than he heard it and he held him closer.  “There is still a lot to do, John.  Moriarty is gone but he trained them well.  They are hard to track and even harder to dispatch.  You know I can’t come home until you are safe.”

John nodded, knowing that this was the way it had to be.  Even with the knowledge he had, watching Sherlock jump from that rooftop had been the most terrifying moment of his life.  He was not able to see him after and had no word from him for two months.  As far as he knew, Sherlock was indeed dead. 

But then the messages began to arrive.  Simple notes left in patient files at work, the newspaper at home, strange anonymous comments on the blog.  Little things that let him know Sherlock was alive, well, and working to get back home. 

He still mourned.  Of course, he did.  They had not been apart for more than a couple days since that fateful moment they met at St. Bart’s all that time ago.  While he knew that there was a “miraculous” return from the dead on the horizon, there was also the very real chance Sherlock would fail.  That one or both of them would not survive this ordeal.

Because of this, they allowed themselves this moment.  A few days, safe from observation, alone.  Three days to reconnect, physically and emotionally.   Days and nights spent wrapped around each other.  Words and names being whispered and screamed and everything in between.

“Next Christmas, Sherlock.  Next Christmas, you will be home.”  John meant for it to be a question but that was not how it sounded.

Sherlock pressed kisses to his chest and neck, nibbling his way up John’s stubble covered jaw line until he reached the mouth of the man he loved so much.  They kissed deeply for a moment, before Sherlock pulled back a mere millimeter and whispered against his lips, “Yes.  Next year it will just be you and me at 221B.”

John smiled, holding him close.  “Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

“Happy Christmas, John.”


	10. Johnlock Suit!Porn for LibertyinReason

“Why do I have to go?” John moaned from upstairs.  “They are your family.  I don’t need to be there.”  Huffing, he looked at himself in the mirror.  He had to admit, he looked good.  When Sherlock had told him to dress up, he mentioned a new jumper he was looking forward to wearing.  The look on Sherlock’s face told him then and there that a jumper and trousers was not going to cut it for his first dinner at the Holmes estate.  Digging through his closet he found a bag long forgotten and when the contents still fit, he knew he had the perfect attire.

He could hear Sherlock pacing downstairs, stomping harder than was normal but it was dinner with his family.  While John had not met any other members of the Holmes clan, if Sherlock and Mycroft were any indication, it may be an interesting evening.  “John, hurry up.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” John grumbled, straightening his pocket square one last time, before turning on his heels.  The dress shoes had less traction than his normal pair and he took the stairs slowly to avoid any mishaps. 

Entering the living room, Sherlock was standing out the window, glaring at the passersby.  John cleared his throat, causing Sherlock to turn and look at him.  “John, it’s about…”  Whatever he was about to say died in his throat, as his eyes widened taking in his flatmate.

Instead of his typical choices of a casual jumper or button, he wore a solid black suit.  Underneath he had a crisp white shirt, accented by a royal and navy striped tie that set off his eyes.  A pearlescent tie bar and the patterned blue pocket square completed the look.  While he had not worn the suit since before the war, all the running he did around London kept him in good shape and the outfit still suited his body perfectly.  Feeling cheeky, he put his arms out and spun slowly, “What do you think?  Good enough for dinner with Mummy Holmes?”

Sherlock’s eyes darkened as his gaze raked over John.  “Mummy will not be seeing that suit,” he growled, prowling across the room to stand in front of John.

John’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, “Why not?  This is a perfectly nice suit.”

“Yes.  It is.  And you will not be leaving the flat in it.”  Sherlock did not stop coming towards him and instinctually John backed up until he felt the wall solid behind him. 

“Sherlock, what are you MNMPH…” John never finished the thought as Sherlock placed hands on either side of his shoulders, bent forward, and captured John’s lips in a bruising kiss.  Shock caused him to go still briefly until his brain caught up.  Sherlock was kissing him.  SHERLOCK was kissing HIM.  Suddenly, everything went in to overdrive as John did what he had longed to do for so many months, lacing his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and tugging him ever closer. 

Sherlock answered by quickly undoing the tie, sliding it from John’s collar and tossing it to the nearby arm chair.  “You.  In that suit.  I can’t handle it, John.  Why haven’t I seen it before?” he mumbled, lips pressed against John’s throat, nipping and licking at the sensitive skin.

“Never.  Needed it.  Before,” John gasped, cursing the fact that he hadn’t worn it sooner if this was going to be the response. 

Sherlock quickly divested him of all his clothing, save for the shirt which hung open exposing his chest and belly.  Dropping to his knees, Sherlock pulled off John’s pants and took him in his mouth in one smooth motion.

Tightening his grip on Sherlock’s hair, John dropped his head back, “Christ, Sherlock.  Your mouth is even more brilliant than I thought.”

Sherlock hummed his approval sending sharp spikes of pleasure through John’s body.  Alternating between deep, strong sucks, and long , languid licks, the exact way he liked, Sherlock soon had him on edge.  “Sherlock, I’m close,” he warned, because it was only polite.

The suction got stronger and within seconds, John was spilling into Sherlock’s mouth, who swallowed around him.  As the last shudders left his body, John slumped down, aided by Sherlock who guided him to the floor.  As he lay, wrapped in Sherlock’s arms he grinned as Sherlock pressed a kiss into his hair.  “Liked the suit, huh?” he asked, his voice scratchy and rough.

“Very much,” was the simple reply.

John turned to catch Sherlock in a softer kiss than the one they shared earlier.  “Now you know how I feel with you in those shirts you like to wear.”  Glancing down, he realized Sherlock was still fully dressed, and more importantly was wearing the tight purple shirt that had featured in several of John’s fantasies since moving to 221B.  “Actually,” he grinned, popping open one of the buttons, “let’s go to the bedroom and I’ll show you.”

Smirking Sherlock helped him to his feet and practically dragged him to the bedroom.

Dinner long forgotten, it was morning before they realized all the apologies that would need to be made.  However, neither was really all that sorry.


	11. Kid!Fic for annstpere

“PAPA!” came the small voice from upstairs.  “DADDY!”

The clock on the table read 3:15AM and Sherlock growled slightly at the interruption to their sleep.  Hamish was generally a good sleeper so they were no longer trained to get up at all hours to cater to his every whim.  “John, your son wants you.”

“I believe he called for you first,” came the groggy reply. 

Sherlock rolled to look at his husband, “If you go up there now, I promise to have the fingernails out of the breadbox before you get up in the morning.”

John nodded, knowing that was about the best deal he was going to get.  Pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s lips, “I’m holding you to that, you know.”

His feet slid easily into his slippers and he quietly made his way upstairs.  Entering his old room, he smiled at his small son, sitting in the middle of the large bed.  “What’s wrong, Hal?” he asked, sitting next to the boy who promptly crawled into his lap.

“There are velociraptors in the attic and they are going to eat me,” Hamish stated, his voice muffled with his face pressed to John’s chest.

“Hamish, velociraptors are extinct.  I promise there aren’t any in the attic.”  Hamish had become fascinated with dinosaurs over the past few weeks and they had many new books on the subject.  Just that last weekend they had taken a trip to the Natural History Museum to see the fossils. 

Hal rolled his eyes, looking so much like his Papa that John was momentarily unnerved.  There was no doubt that biologically the child was Sherlock’s but he had much of John’s personality, a fact that pleased both of his fathers to no end.  “But they can use the fossil DNA to make new dinosaurs.  They did it in the movie Papa showed me while you were at work.”

John tilted his head in confusion.  He had been at work that day but generally Hamish wasn’t allowed to watch telly at all, let alone a whole movie.  But perhaps it was a documentary or something.  “What movie was that Hal?”

“Jurassic Park.” 

John gaped at his small son for a moment before shouting for his idiot husband who showed their 4 year old son a horror movie, “SHERLOCK!!!” 


	12. The Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriarty (kind of) for libertyinreason. They are about 6 years old. Oh, and this is a 221C because of reasons.

“Whatcha doing?” Jimmy asked, as he stood leaning against a tree watching his friend and archrival Sherlock.

“Building myself a new friend.  You are dull,” Sherlock commented as he rolled another ball of snow across the lawn.

Jimmy smiled his grin that always seemed to unnerve the adults around him, and helped Sherlock add the top to his snowman.  Sherlock produced a bag that he had brought with him and slowly dressed the snowman in a jacket, some trainers and a ball cap. 

“Where did you get those, Sherlock?  Not your usual style.”

Shrugging, Sherlock answered, “Nicked them from some boys at school.  They were being rude to Molly.  She’s annoying but I’m the only one allowed to be mean to her.”

Jimmy nodded, “Good job.  I would have pushed them into the pool though.”

“We weren’t near the pool.”  Sherlock stood back to enjoy his handy work.  “Perfect.  Now I have a new friend who won’t be obnoxious.

Jimmy grinned again and pushed the snowman over, walking off without another word.  Sherlock stomped and yelled,  “You killed him!  I hate you Jimmy!  I’m telling Mycroft you murdered him.  He will tell the police and you will be arrested!”

“Catch you later!”  Jimmy sing-songed as he left the other boy yelling in his wake.

“He was my friend, Jimmy!  Poor Carl.”


	13. Gran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For mad-maenad

“Um, Sherlock,” John started, hesitation in his voice, “There may be something I forgot to tell you.”

Sherlock didn’t even look from his mobile just grunted at him, which John took as a sign to continue.

“Harry seems to have told Gran that we are, um, involved.  I never got around to correcting her so now she is really looking forward to meeting ‘the beau that brought the sparkle back to my life.’  John really needed to kill his sister one of these days but she obviously wasn’t entirely to blame.  He knew he should have told her the truth but she was so happy he didn’t have it in him to break her heart.

Sherlock glanced at him, “Yes, yes.  I’ll pretend to be the good boyfriend.  Whatever you need,” he mumbled going back to his mobile.

This is not going to end well, John thought miserably to himself.

Gran was already at the table when they arrived at the restaurant.  John and, to his surprise, Sherlock both greeted her with a kiss.  He was even more shocked when Sherlock pulled out his chair for him.

They ordered and made small talk about the weather and Gran’s bad hip, before she finally asked the question John knew was coming, “So how did you two meet?”

“Well, um,” John faltered before Sherlock interrupted.

“I was taking a walk in the park; one of those fine London afternoons in the autumn, just perfect for being outdoors.  As I was walking out of nowhere, this dog came up and bit me on the leg!  I was so surprised.  Then this adorable man here came running up, offering apologies and scolding his dog.  He treated my ankle which was nothing more than a scratch and offered to buy me coffee for my trouble.  I have to say, it was love at first sight.”

John’s eyes widened as he looked at Sherlock, unsure who this man was sitting next to him.  Shaking himself, he remembered what they were doing.  “Yes.  Good old, Gladstone.  We have him to thank for bringing us together.  He is such a handful.  Or at least he was before the accident.”

Sherlock nodded his head sympathetically, “It is a shame.  If only we could have figured out how to keep the collar on better, he would still be with us today.”  He sniffed, looking for all the world like he was going to cry.  “Excuse me, please,” he stood, making his way to the toilets.

John turned to Gran.  “So, what do you think?  Wonderful isn’t he.”

“You are full of shit, John.  Almost none of that was true and you know it.”  John blinked, rarely hearing obscenities come from his dear old grandmother.  “Please give me some credit.”

“But, but.  What?” John stuttered, looking utterly perplexed.

“Honestly, John.  I have known you for your entire life.  You are not a dog person.  You like cats.  You would never have a dog.  Also, I know all about the great Sherlock Holmes.  I follow your blog and the papers.  If he wanted to keep a dog in a collar, he would have figured out a way.  I think there was only one true statement in that whole load of crap you just tried to sell me.”

“And what was that?” John asked, wracking his brain for the nugget of truth.

“That it was love at first sight.  For both of you.  You can tell lies all you want, btu the way you two look at each other.  I’m not blind, John.”

John nodded.  “You’re right.  It was love at first sight, at least for me.  I do love him, Gran.  But he doesn’t return the feeling.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, John,” a deep baritone rumbled behind him.  Blushing John turned to face Sherlock.  “It was love at first sight for me, as well.” 

“Really?” John asked, overwhelmed. 

“Really,” Sherlock confirmed, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to John’s lips.  The kiss deepened before a throat cleared bringing them back to themselves.

Gran just rolled her eyes.  “I am happy for you boys, but seriously, some of us are trying to eat.”


	14. A Call to Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For corpsereviver2 who wanted Arm!Porn

Domestic did not interest Sherlock.  John had to have known that the moment he set foot in 221B.  Papers scattered everywhere, experiments staked throughout the kitchen.  Cleanliness was just not something that warranted a place in his mind palace.

So why was John in such a huff now?

“Honeslty, Sherlock,” the man had bellowed when he walked into the kitchen after a day at the clinic.  “Is it too bloody much to ask for to come home to an empty sink just once?”

Sherlock admitted that he HAD used every dish they owned for an experiment, but John should be used to it, right?  Just as Sherlock had quickly gotten used to knowing things would be where he expected them because John cleaned up after him.  It was a partnership, at least in Sherlock’s mind.

He shrugged against John’s heated words, glancing up occasionally from the laptop he had pearched on the arm of his chair.  John had shrugged off his sport coat and was unbuttoning his cuffs so he could do the dishes.  Dull.  But then….

Sherlock noticed he was no longer looking at the computer and instead had all his focus on the now visible forearms of Dr. John Watson.  John rarely wears short shirt sleeves so his arms are covered most of the time.   But here they are, on display, and Sherlock can barely blink.

They are strong, muscular, the veins clearly visible even from where he is standing.  Sherlock has always admired John’s hands.  Lethal yet healing.  Such a contradiction.  Just like John.

As John washed the dishes small bubbles decorated his arm, catching on the golden hair there.  Sherlock was struck with the sudden notion that he wanted to know every place on John Watson’s body that had hair, what colour it was, and what it smelled like.  Losing himself quickly in the daydream, he didn’t hear John at first.

“Oi, Sherlock.  Stop sitting there and come help me.”

Sherlock blinked back to reality then, for once, obediently did as he was told.  Any excuse to get closer to that man.  And his arms.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teen!Lock for audreyneedsalife

“Can we get this over with?  I have rugby practice at 4.”  John slammed his stuff down on the table, earning him a strong shooshing from the librarian.

The dark haired boy looked up at him through his fringe, “And you think I chose to be here?  This is my punishment for announcing to the class what the chemistry teacher does in his spare time.  It was so obvious I’m amazed that even people like your teammates didn’t pick up on it.”

“Fine, so you don’t want to be here and I don’t want to be here.  Just show me how to do the homework and we will be out of each other’s hair.”  John pulled his chemistry assignment from his bag, knocking several books from the knapsack in the process. 

Sherlock looked at it, “Why don’t you start doing the first one and I can just tell you when you are wrong?  That might be the easiest for you.”

John rolled his eyes and worked out the problem quickly.  When he was finished, he dropped his pencil, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed to look at his reluctant tutor.

“That was actually right.” Sherlock said, disbelief evident in his voice.  He turned to look at John with a discerning glint in his eye.  “You actually understand everything that is going on in the class,” he states after several seconds.  “The only reason your grades are poor is that you forget to do your assignments.  You play it off as being a dumb jock but it is actually from family problems.  Alcoholic parent.”

John stared at him, before leaning in and hissing, “How did you know that just from the fact that I can do one problem correctly?  That was brilliant.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he looked as if he were seeing John in a new light.  “Did I get anything wrong?” he asked seeing how far John’s good will would go.

“It’s my sister, not a parent.  But otherwise, spot on.”  John grinned and Sherlock’s confusion deepened.

Head cocked to this side he asked, “You aren’t insulted?  Usually people tell me to piss off.”

“Insulted?  No.  You just figured out more about me in 15 seconds then any of my mates have done in 15 years.”

Slowly, a smile spread across Sherlock’s face.  “Would you like to come over to my place and finish the homework there?  I’m staying with my aunt.  She owns a whole building so I have the top to myself.”

John grinned back at him.  “I’d like that.  I’ll come over straight away after practice.  What’s the address?”  He fished a pen from his bag and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

“221B Baker Street.  If a Mrs. Hudson answers, tell her you are there to see me.  She will probably give you biscuits and tell you that she isn’t a housekeeper.  She’s wonderful.”

Glancing at the clock, John quickly shoved his things back in the bag.  “It’s a date.  See you later, Sherlock.”

“Bye, John.”


	16. Bad Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday present for darlingnikisayshi

“We could flip a coin for it.”

John simply glared, “Sherlock, we are not flipping a coin to decide who is going to top tonight.”

“Why?  There are two of us.  Two sides of a coin.  It makes sense.  And since we cannot reach a decision on our own, why not leave it up to chance?”

Running a hand through his hair, John groaned, “Do you think you can come up with an idea that is at least slightly sexy?”  They were standing in their bedroom, starkers, glaring at each other from across the bed.  This was supposed to be their anniversary.  A night for just them and here they were fighting about sex positions.

“What does it matter anyway, John?  Generally I top you.  This works for us.  Why change things up?”

“Because it is our anniversary Sherlock.  We are supposed to do something special.  And the something special I would like to do is fuck you into the mattress.”

“Then ride me.”

John simply glared at his partner who was looking pleased with himself for having come up with that solution.  He sighed heavily, eyes falling closed.  “Fuck me,” he groaned under his breath.

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Sherlock crowed, obviously getting fed up with John and his insistence on continuing this argument.  “Fine.  You can top but I get to do it all next week.”

They both crawled onto the bed and into each other’s arms, kissing and stroking, getting their lagging erections back to full mast.  John started to trail his finger towards Sherlock’s entrance before rolling away, flinging his arm towards the bed side table in search of lube.  “Sherlock, do you have any on your side?”

“Why would I? We always keep it in your drawer.”

John smacked his shoulder, “Just check.”  Sherlock rummaged around in his drawer, throwing several pieces of string, an empty wine bottle, and a stuffed hedgehog on the floor while looking for the small bottle. 

“Nothing.  And you certainly aren’t penetrating me without it.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”  John turned back to his drawer.  “I know we have some.  I just bought a new bottle three days ago.”  Sherlock made a slightly strangled noise and when John turned to look at him, Sherlock refused to meet his eyes.   “Sherlock, what happened to all the lubricant?”

“I may have had an experiment that required it yesterday.  Also, you will need a new sugar bowl.”

John sat up, glaring at his infuriating husband.  “Sherlock Holmes-Watson, what could you possibly be doing that required all of our lube and destroyed my sugar bowl?”

Sherlock attempted an innocent look, to which John just scoffed when Sherlock murmured, “I love you John.”

“I love you too you annoying dick.”  He flopped back down, erection gone yet again.  Throwing an arm over his eyes, he moaned, “Well, now what?”

“I have some thumbs that need dissecting,” Sherlock supplied helpfully.

John propped himself up on his elbows, “I meant in bed.  And no, you are not dissecting thumbs in bed.”  He let himself drop back to the bed with a huff.

Sherlock, finally realizing what this meant to John, rolled over so he partially covered his pouting husband.  Pressing kisses to John’s jaw, ears, and neck he whispered, “I love you, John.  I’m sorry.  I’ll do whatever you want.”

Sherlock’s attentions brought John’s cock back to attention, and taking them both in one of his large hands, Sherlock started to stroke them, continuing to kiss and nip at John’s sensitive skin.  It didn’t take long for both of them to be thrusting into his tight grip, John gripping Sherlock’s shoulders for more leverage. 

Sherlock came first, stuttering John’s name as his orgasm over took him.  John followed a minute later, his release mingling with Sherlock’s on Sherlock’s hand and his own stomach.  He kissed Sherlock one last time before turning to grab a towel from the floor next to the bed.  He turned back in time to watch Sherlock wipe off his own hand on the sheet where John normally slept.

“God damn it Sherlock,” he growled, wiping himself off.  “Budge over.  For that, you get the wet spot.”  Sherlock smirked, scooting over while John climbed over his legs.

“Happy Anniversary John.”

“Happy Anniversary, you insufferable bastard.”


End file.
